


Hard

by missdibley



Series: Old Town [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Based on a Dream, Chicago, Eventual Smut, F/M, inspired by a dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 08:03:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14374458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missdibley/pseuds/missdibley
Summary: Of all the gin joints in the world, why did Mina's celebrity crush have to walk into hers?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For all the years I have been a fan, and writing fan fiction, I've never dreamt about Tom. Until now. Hence this fic, which is based on what happened in the dream.

_Gonna walk a tightrope_  
_Gonna get kicks every night_  
_No one's holding me back_  
_No one's changing my mind_  
_Get the stars out your eyes_  
_Come and sit next to me_  
_Under Tennessee skies_  
_Down on South Front Street  
_ Spoon, “Can I Sit Next to You”

* * *

“Is that him?”

I looked up from my phone, glancing at my friend Lennie’s round face when she spoke to me. Lit only by the bright display, her eyes sparkled with some unseen delight as she followed someone as they moved through the bar where we were sitting. I froze when I followed her gaze, recognizing who it was.

Ginger hair that sort of stuck out, getting messier when he ran his hair through it. He wore his glasses perched on the bridge of his patrician nose. Tall, lean. Broad shouldered with narrow hips. Like a swimmer, I thought, with big hands. He wore a slim blue sweater and jeans, but held his coat by its collar as he took a seat. The seat was low and he was tall, so it was awkward. Still, I could have watched him do that on repeat. The way one shoulder went up as he eased himself in. When he rubbed his chin, chuckling at some joke or compliment I couldn’t hear. He put his arm up on the partition of the booth, and my mouth felt dry as I watched the silhouette of his fingers tapping along the edge of that partition.

It was Tom Hiddleston. In the firm — and possibly drunk — flesh.

I hadn’t believed Lennie. Not when she texted me to say that I had to come out. I had sworn off The Old Town Ale House. It was always too crowded with students from Second City — they were all too hyper and full of themselves for my taste. Lennie could take it fine. She had to. She tended bar there, Thursdays through Saturdays. Primetime shifts. Those improv students may have been pompous assholes but at least they were good tippers.

Old Town was a legit dive, a Windy City treasure. They didn’t do credit cards. They sold $1 bags of Jay’s BBQ chips from behind the bar. Claudio the tamale man always made at least two stops per night, selling tamales (six to a bag, $5 for chicken, cheese, or pork) out of a blue cooler.

The bar had a 4AM license so the place would get crowded and rowdier after the 2AM bars closed. On the walls there were grimy pictures of local celebrities, Second City alumni who’d gone on to fame and fortune on SNL. All the Murray brothers. A picture of John Cusack, vandalized in black marker with “HIS DICK SMELLS LIKE CHEESE.”

John C. Reilly and Michael Shannon were in town, doing a play over at Steppenwolf, and it was closing night which meant Old Town would be packed with cast and crew, their friends and family. The usual hangers-on and wannabes. It was guaranteed to be a shit show, and Lennie knew this and I knew this but still she got me to come out.

Why?

To get a glance at the tall drink of English gin who now sat in a booth not six feet in front of my barstool.

I turned to Lennie. “Has he been drinking?”

“He barely wobbled into that booth.” She shrugged, her freckled cheeks going rounder when she grinned. “So he’s a little tipsy.”

“Why is he even here?” I scowled over the top of my glass of Bulleit.

“He and John…” Lennie began to say, stopping when I cackled. “What?”

“You and _John_ ,” I drawled. “Are you and John C. Reilly besties now?”

“Fuck you,” she said. “He’s been in before and he’s nice. Everybody calls him that.”

“Hey!” A shrill, nasal voice interrupted. Lennie and I turned to find a petite girl with shiny black hair and olive skin holding a credit card between two manicure fingers. Artificially green eyes glared at the two of us.

“Yeah?” Lennie, who had been leaning over the bar while she talked to me, pushed herself back, planted her feet and nodded. “Can I get you something?”

“Yeah, a frozen aperol spritz,” the girl replied, waving her card at us.

“Sorry, we don’t do those.” Lennie jerked her thumb at the door. “Try Regards to Edith on Morgan, or Parson’s in Humboldt Park.”

“What kind of a bar doesn’t do frozen aperols?” The girl tucked her card into her bra and pouted.

“The kind that sells dollar bags of barbecue chips,” I replied, with fake sweetness. “And doesn’t take credit cards.”

“Ugh!” The girl flipped her hair, unleashing a wave of sticky sweet perfumed air that made me cough. Turning to leave, she called out. “Brittany!” She sauntered over to the booth where Tom sat and another girl sat. endlessly flipping her hair and braying as Tom shifted over so she could squeeze in and join them.

“So why is he here again?’ I hissed at Lennie.

“I guess he made friends with Reilly. After that dumb monkey movie you made me watch last year,” Lennie cracked.

“Shut it,” I warned.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I guess he was passing through, decided to stop here between LA and London.”

“And you know this how?”

“Reilly brought Tom to Second City this afternoon, introduced him around. A few of the students got autographs…”

“And now those skanks are getting drinks with him.’

“You’re so funny when you’re jealous!” Lennie punched me lightly on the arm.

“I am not jealous!”

“Mina.” Lennie repeated my name while I continued to stare into my glass. “You love him.”

“So?” I didn’t bother trying to deny it.

“Go talk to him, you dummy.”

“And what am I gonna say?’ I muttered.

Lennie stroked her chin. “Something like, ‘Hi, I’m Mina Martinez, and I think you’re neat. I live just around the corner, so would you like to come over and have some sex with me?”

I laughed, but my cheeks burned just the same. I snorted: “What? Not ‘Hi. I’m Mina Martinez, I’m 35, a failed actor turned copywriter, and I named my vibrator after your character in Wallander?’”

Lennie shrieked, clapping her hands in delight. “That’s perfect!”

Before I could make yet another witty retort, cheers went up from the crowd when the actors from the cast made their way in to shouts of congratulations. I tuned out the noise, speeches made by cast and crew from the far corner, so i could watch Tom. The girls hung on whatever he was saying, flipping their hair and daring to touch his shoulder.

John C. Reilly came by, fiddling with the doors to the booth that afforded Tom and his new friends a little privacy. Reilly turned, waved in our direction, and shouted “Hey Lennie!” before he came over.

“John, meet my friend Mina,” Lennie said, pushing a pint at him. She waved her hand away when he pulled out his wallet.

“Hey,” he said. “John.”

“Hey,” I replied. “Mina.”

“You at Second City?’ Reilly looked at the crowd. “Lotta kids here tonight.”

“No,” I shook my head. “Just a friend of Lennie’s. I’m here for the cheap beer.”

“Here, here!” Reilly cried out, merry.

“How did it go?’ Though she had refused payment, Lennie did accept the dollar John pushed at her by way of tip.

“It went well, though,” Reilly smirked. “I can’t deny it was kind of a letdown when the biggest cheers came when Tom came into the theater and took his seat.”

“Yeesh,” I said, sympathetically. I held my drink up in a toast. “Well, cheers to you, sir.”

“Thank you kindly, milady.” Reilly clinked his pint against my glass, raised it, then joined me as we sipped together.

Reilly was pulled away, into the crowd of well-wishers, and I resumed my observation of Tom. A couple of times he looked over his shoulder, always narrowly missing me watching him. I was stuck to my barstool, drowning my insecurity in Old Style though Lennie gave me plenty of water so I didn’t get wasted.

During a quick trip to the ladies room, I examine my round face with its dark eyes. Soft cheeks, perpetually pursed lips. I arranged my black hair, which fell to my shoulders, so it sort of concealed my double chin, then leaned over and re-positioned my tits in my bra. They weren’t big, but they were firm and still rode high.

When I returned to my stool, I saw Tom standing just outside his booth. Coat in hand, he was now talking to Reilly and Michael Shannon. The three actors stood, laughing between sips from their pint glasses. They were clearly enjoying themselves.

One of the improv students got up on a makeshift stage and started cracking wise into a microphone that had been set up for the Steppenwolf folks to thank the audience. He largely went ignored, something that didn’t sit well with him. And so he started doing impressions, bad ones at that.

“I see we’ve got John C. Reilly here,” the guy slurred before going into a poor imitation of Reilly’s character from _Boogie Nights_. Still no reaction from the audience. “Oh! Is that Tom Hiddleston? It is!” A few titters but again not much of a reaction from the crowd. Tom himself shrugged, then leaned in to catch something Michael Shannon was saying.

“Hey Tom? Can I smell your fingers?” The kid brayed. “I’ve always wanted to know what Taylor Swift smells like!”

Holy.

Fucking.

Shit.

You could have heard a pin drop. It lasted one second, maybe two, and then the kid started shouting when the bouncer pushed him off the stage, and out through the back door that I knew led into the alley. The crowd applauded his exit, and some folks shot Tom sympathetic looks.

Michael clapped a hand on Tom’s shoulder, while Reilly smiled. But Tom had already stiffened, his shoulders square and his hands still as he held onto his coat. The girls beckoned to him, trying to get him to get back into the safety of the booth and its high walls, but Tom had had enough. Shaking his head, and then his hands, he spun on his heel and began to head towards the door.

“Mina?” I heard Lennie’s voice in my ear. “You okay?” It was then that I realized that I was stiff, too, and shaking. Counting Tom’s steps as he drew closer. He didn’t really see me.

So I made him see.

I don’t remember putting down my drink. But I must have. Because when I stood in Tom’s way, the hand I held out to him was empty. I looked at it first, then up at him. His brow was creased. He looks confused. My mouth was still dry and I was cold all of a sudden so I shivered. But despite that, I could form words enough to extend an invitation.

I grabbed his arm and said, “Come on. I’ll show you a good time.”

“Mina?” There was Lennie again.

I took a breath.

And so before Tom could say no to me, and before those girls in the booth could catch up, and before Reilly could tempt him into staying, I took Tom’s hand, grabbed my coat off the stool, and pulled him outside into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mina Martinez rescued Tom Hiddleston from a bar full of jerks. So what now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pretty much as I dreamt it, so no real talk of using protection before (spoiler alert) unprotected sex.

_My baby makes me proud_   
_Lord, don't she make me proud_   
_She never makes a scene_   
_By hangin' all over me in a crowd_

_'Cause people like to talk_   
_Lord, don't they love to talk_   
_But when they turn out the lights_   
_I know she'll be leavin' with me_

_And when we get behind closed doors_   
_Then she lets her hair hang down_   
_And she makes me glad that I'm a man_   
_Oh, no one knows what goes on behind closed doors_

Charlie Rich, “Behind Closed Doors”

* * *

Midnight.

The wind coming down North Avenue off the lake was beginning to pick up. It cut through me as I stood on the corner, struggling to get into my coat as Tom watched me.

He looked sullen. He looked deflated. Sort of looming over me, he stood there with his arms crossed in front of himself. He wore his coat, but did not button it up.

“Hey!”

The girl from the booth, not the hair-flipper but her friend, emerged from the bar. Squinting under [ the amber streetlights ](http://www.chicagomag.com/city-life/April-2017/Its-Really-Hard-to-Figure-Out-What-Color-a-Citys-Streetlights-Should-Be/), it took her a moment to see us standing there.

“Tom!” She took a step forward, reaching for Tom’s hands even as they were tucked up against him.

The girl was pretty. Young, with ebony skin and long limbs and curls in a froth atop of her perfectly shaped head. Her lips curled up when she saw me, into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Tom turned to look at her, but did not relax his posture. Taking another chance, I slipped my hand into the crook of his left arm. I barely had to squeeze before he unfolded his arm, twisting his hand slightly so my hand fit neatly into his. Arrested. I bit my lip and chanced it. He was already looking at my face when I found his. He looked less deflated. His eyes were wide as they blinked. Curious. Questioning.

I looked at the girl, who shivered in her short skirt and thin sweater. I shook my head at her, and then it was my turn. My turn to turn around, start walking down the block, and take Tom with me.

“Where are you taking me?”

I almost missed his question, as I could barely hear anything over the sound of blood rushing in my head and my heart thumping in my chest. He squeezed my hand, and when I looked up he asked again.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Home,” I whispered.

Tom stopped, but he didn’t let go of my hand. Instead, he sought out my pulse. Fingers tapping, then resting lightly against the inside of my wrist. I turned again, this time to face him, and when I did Tom moved his fingers from my wrist to my neck. He pressed his fingertips into the flesh, and all the while my stomach flipped. It was dark, and the trees filtered the streetlight, but I could see his face. Lips parted, eyelashes fluttering behind the smudged lenses of his glasses.

“Alright,” he said. “Okay.”

He started walking again, and it was my turn to follow. None of my neighbors were out, but I could hear sounds from Wells one block over. A symphony of car horns, bar goers, and bouncers. Less than a block in the opposite direction lay the el tracks, and so a brown line train rattled past as I stopped just short of the corner. Nodding at a three flat with a concrete stoop, I walked up the steps with Tom following. He stood there, right behind me, breathing down my neck as I fumbled with my keys. The lock seemed so far away, and even with the front door light I had trouble making it out.

Once inside, even less light. Not a huge deal, as we only had one short flight of stairs up to go. Carpeted steps that muffled my steps as I began to trudge. I neither heard nor felt Tom moving behind me. I didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to turn around and find him reaching for the door. Muttering apologies about having too much to drink and he should get back to the bar before John wondered where he was.

I didn’t turn around. I couldn’t turn around if I tried. I had only made it a few steps when I was stopped. Held in place by two hands, large and warm and strong, holding me at my hips. Hands to keep me in place while a pair of soft, dry lips were pressed to the back of my neck.

I was aware that the nape of my neck was damp with perspiration, alerted to that fact by Tom’s nose. How it pressed and sniffed, while his lips tightened.

I felt teeth. Biting my neck and leaving wet kisses.

I made no sound. I breathed and then his hands took each of my wrists. There was a handrail on my right, and a wall on my left. Guiding me from behind, a few steps below, Tom followed me to the front door of my apartment and loomed over me again as I unlocked the door, all the while panting in my ear. This time there was less shivering on my part, less fumbling.

The door swung open, we stepped in, and then Tom pinned me against the wall. He had the door shut before my keyring slipped off my fingers and fell to the floor.

He didn’t kiss me. Not at first. Instead, he rested alongside me. Forehead to forehead, we were closer. I heard another train outside, and as soon as its sounds had died off I began to unbutton his coat. A wool peacoat, with dark wooden buttons that were easy to undo. I pushed my hands up from his chest, just underneath the coat to open it up and let it slide off down his shoulders and arms down to the floor.

I watched the rise and fall of Tom’s chest, the way his sweater skimmed his body. He didn’t touch me, just planted his hands on either side of my shoulders and let me undress him. I didn’t look at him, not even when I lifted the hem of his sweater. Only a little, so I could slip my hand just above the waist of his jeans and feel his stomach. The faint beginning of a trail of hair that began below his navel. I scratched it lightly, and Tom pulled away a little. His stomach contracting from the suddenness, but then he pushed back into my touch.

“Come on,” he said, voice tight and urgent.

I turned my face up to this, lips parting just as his tongue swiped out to taste me. I felt one of his hands cup my face, stroke my jaw into relaxing and my mouth opened wider and I tasted too. I had watched him drink quite a bit back at the bar but he didn’t taste sour or stale. His beard tickled me and even as I turned my face this way and that, he chased. Nuzzling and laughing until I surrendered and let him continue to kiss me.

My hand stayed in place, resting on his stomach. When I touched him there, the tautness and muscularity in all the pictures I’d ever seen of him online, was instead just firm. A little soft, even. There wasn’t enough flesh to pinch between two fingers. This unexpected tenderness pleased me.

My other hand managed to unbuckle his belt before opening his jeans at the fly. A single brass button was smooth to the touch while the teeth of the zipper was rough. Using both hands, I tugged down his jeans down a little, just enough to reveal the sheen of his dark boxer briefs. I felt his cock against the back of my hand. He was big. Heavy. Straining and hard. Tom flinched, just a little, when we touched. But when I drew my hand back, he pressed himself forward.

So I caressed him, over the fabric. I let him kiss me. I was hot, still wearing my coat and with Tom against me and breathing heavy in my ear. The radiators that heated my apartment rattled away from their corners in my living room, the kitchen, bathroom, my bedroom.

_Hiss hiss hiss._

_Kiss kiss kiss._

We lost things along the way, stumbling down the hall to my room.

My coat. His shoes. My sweatshirt (because the Ale House is not a place you dress up for, not even if it’s hosting celebrities). His jeans.

Sitting now on the edge of my bed, Tom questioned me as I tugged off my own jeans and carefully, without putting weight on him, straddled his lap.

“Name?’

“Mina Martinez.” My reply earned me a kiss in the crook of my neck. “You’re Tom Hiddleston.”

He nipped at me. “Yes.”

“Is that why you brought me home?” He muttered into my skin.

I waited, closing my eyes. One of his hands was rubbing the small of my back. “I… I don’t know,” I answered, honestly. “Maybe.”

“Only maybe?” I felt his lips smiling against my shoulder, where he kissed me again.

And then nothing. No more words. Just the light scrape of his teeth on my skin as he bit and tugged at my bra strap. It slipped down my arm, enough to expose my left breast. Tom nipped again, nibbling at the nipple until he closed his lips around it and began to suck.

I wavered, feeling unsteady, trying to balance and when I struggled, not to get away but to settle, Tom hushed me. _“Sh sh sh sh,”_ he said, tightening his grasp around me. “I’ve got you.”

The other bra strap slipped down on its own, and so my other breast received the pleasure of this tongue’s gifted attention. I touched myself, teasing my clit. One finger on the button, another to tease my slit. Fingers slipping inside and he kept sucking and saying _“Yes”_ so softly I could scarcely hear it.

My mouth was still dry, and I needed his tongue again. Pitching myself forward, I had him lying on his back now. I had removed my hand from between my legs and let him taste and lick my fingertips. He moaned his thanks. When I pumped my fingers a few times, he sucked again. When it occurred to me that he was still wearing his glasses, I laughed and pulled my fingers out of his mouth.

“What?” He smiled, just a little uncertain.

“Do you always wear your glasses when you fuck?”

Tom smirked, and reached up with one hand to give my hair a quick tug. “I don’t want to miss anything.”

“Fair enough,” I said.

When I moved off him, Tom moved further up the bed so he could prop himself up against some pillows. He watched me remove my bra, frowning when I teased the waistband of my panties but did not remove them. He removed his glasses, and set them aside on my nightstand.

Lying by his side, my head propped up near his hip, I thought about what to do next. Where should I go. Tom idly ran his hand up my right thigh, only skimming the outside.

My belly felt heavy as I turned over to crawl. Get in closer. Nudge his hips with my hands so his briefs slid further down. Wiry ginger hair stood out from his flesh,  which was so light in comparison to how dark his cock was when I took it in my hand and began to stroke.

“I want…” Tom whined. “I want you…”

“Hmm?” I didn’t look at his face, just his dick and how big it looked in my hand. The head slick with just a little pre-cum. I licked my lips, and took the tip of his cock into my mouth.

 _“Oh.”_ Tom’s breathing was slow and heavy, and I just lay there.  Sucking gently. Taking his pulse with my tongue, I grew more eager still. Something about the scent of his skin, the musk that I found intoxicating and when the hair of his body tickled my hose, I bobbed my head and opened wider and took him in inches.

My hands now free, I held onto him. First at the hips, then his thighs. Reaching from below so I could open his thighs wider, occasionally take his balls in hand and squeeze in rhythm along with my mouth. I released him, drooled and gave up a little spit from my mouth to get him wetter. He was so big, I needed him as slick and slippery as I could get him before I sucked his cock again.

I had him pinned now, and had become accustomed to the feeling of his nails digging into the backs of my thighs. When he reached for me, letting one hand rest on the back of my head as I continued to suck, I showed my appreciation my taking all of him in. He was hard but I wouldn’t let him come. I needed the moment to last longer. Tom Hiddleston naked in my bed, me sprawled on top of him and gagging with the effort of sucking his cock.

I felt myself move. Or rather, I was moved. Legs pulled apart, then bent so I was on my knees on the mattress. And then I felt his breath between my legs. When I felt his fingers tug aside my panties, I squeaked.

“Don’t move.” Tom whispered. “And don’t stop.”

I began sucking his cock, and so Tom slipped his tongue inside my sex. Licking up and inside, pushing my ass up so he could flick his tongue at my clit. It took some doing, but then we found a way. Me sucking his cock while Tom ate me out from behind.

He sounded obscene. Not just with the slurping and the smacking of his lips. The words, a stream of obscenities spilling from his lips into my cunt. Cascading over my ass before shimmying up my spine. _“Yes. That’s a good girl. Keep sucking. Harder. Harder. God yes. You taste so good. So fucking hot.”_

There was a moment. We were on the cusp of coming. I could feel it. His hips were bucking now, no longer squirming into the mattress but lifting off it. I was shameless pushing my ass back against him. All of my pussy to lick. His hands held my ass cheeks apart, and when his fingers teased at my asshole I went from pushing to grinding.

‘I want.” he managed to groan. “I want to fuck you.”

I don’t remember the sound I made — was it a sob? was it a moan? — as I released his cock from my lips. Did I whine when Tom took his mouth off me, and gently rolled me onto my back.

That was the last moment of gentleness. The last time things were slow. Because in a minute Tom had flipped around so his face was hovering above mine.

“Do you want…?” He groaned. “Shit, I don’t have anything.”

I shook my head, reaching for him so I could kiss him. I tasted something tart and salty — me — on his tongue. “I want you.”

He broke the kiss to nuzzle my cheek. “Yeah?”

In reply, I spread my legs and let my knees fall apart after planting my feet on the bed. Tom looked down at himself, at us, as he moved to kneel between my legs. Still so hard, his cock bobbed up, against his stomach, occasionally brushing against my mound. When I reached for him, took him in hand again and resumed my gentle stroke, he groaned. He shifted when I guided the head of his cock to my sex.

I held my breath, only releasing it when he eased his way inside me. I was so wet and hot, so fucking ready, but he was new and big and hard and it had been a while. Quite some time since I had a real life human between my legs and not an expensive piece of Scandinavian technology named “Magnus”.

He lay himself down, and when I felt his weight and the hardness of his cock inside me. The burn of my hips and my thighs as I lay beneath him, legs open. We were still and while he was heavy I felt light. I was just a little dizzy, high and and wild and free.

_One mississippi._

I tightened inside, and he stirred.

_Two mississippi._

He pushed up, but did not withdraw.

_Three mississippi._

He wound his hips, slowly working so I could feel his cock everywhere. He was completely inside me, and when he moved I felt him everywhere. Every thrust brought new shocks from a seemingly infinite number of places. Sensations untold and undiscovered. The only thing I could do was laugh in time with the rhythm as he moved above me. Feel my breasts, watch the flush that crept up his neck to his face, down his chest to his stomach. Drops of sweat ran off his face and onto mine.

I kept tightening, and he moved faster. Fucked me harder, and I was soon entranced by the sound of our bodies as they hit and rocked up against each other. When I reached for my clit, Tom clenched his jaw: _“Get.”_ He moved his arms, one first and then the other, so my legs draped over them. My cunt closer to his cock, and he could fuck me deeper. I turned my head, pleading with him, but he brought his face back to mine, turning it so I could accept the deep kiss, hot and dark and filthy and rich, he was so desperate to give me.

My arms locked around him, keeping him in place so I could keep kissing him. Let him consume me even as his cock stretched me, his hips slapped hard against the underside of my thighs. Knees up to my chest, I took the brunt of him. When he thrust in, he could hit my clit, that’s how close we were, and I babbled into his ear. No words just sighs and moans and then… and then… screams as I came. My whole body twitching and writing, shivering and shaking all over, and then pulsing. The heartbeat traveling.

“I’m gonna… I’m…” Tom pleaded, and I felt his hips twist.

“In me,” I hissed. “I want it.”

I grabbed Tom’s face -- the square jaw and the fuzzy beard, the bright eyes and wicked tongue — and kissed him. Taking his kisses, swallowing him and then he gasped. Hips bucking but back stiff as he came inside me.

_One mississippi._

One thrust, sharp and fast. Tom’s mouth fell open.

_Two mississippi._

Another thrust, hard and deep. Tom’s eyelids drooped.

_Three mississippi._

Hips rolled, and Tom collapsed in exhaustion.

I didn’t want to move. Because if I moved I would break the spell. Dispel the illusion. End the dream. That one night Tom Hiddleston walked into my bar, let me take him home, and fucked me.

More than that, my senses were still crowded. The smell of his hair, the skin just under his jaw, even the musk of his cock. The way his tongue tasted. His voice, smooth and deep and clear.

“Mina?”

I kissed his cheek. “Yeah?”

Tom lifted his head, peering in my eyes. His own eyes looked unfocused. “Are you alright?”

I nodded. “What about you?”

“Good.” He licked his lips. “That was good.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It was.”

“Really good,” he said.

“I know,” I said. “I had fun.”

Tom smiled, looking pleased. “So what do we do now?”

I kissed him. “What would you like to do?”

“Do you have anything to drink?” Tom said in a hush.

“I’m not sure,” I mused. “But there’s a bar down the block…”

Tom bit my cheek gently. “Very funny.”

“I can’t imagine you’d be parched,” I couldn’t resist saying. “I mean, I _was_ pretty wet…”

“Oh my god!” Tom blushed. He actually blushed. The dude who was _thisclose_ to actual ass play. The guy whose dick was still inside me. He actually had the nerve to blush.

It was adorable.

I was fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> I nearly wrote this as a fic for Tom and Carmen of The Red Nose Diaries, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to frame it as an AU or a dream that Carmen had so I chickened out and created another chubby Asian OFC. Whoops. :)


End file.
